Charlie had been pestering her about giving her notice again that morning. He was still out of a job, although he had an interview that day for a clerk’s position at the Yorkshire Penny Bank in Skipton. However, he was increasingly opposed to his wife going out to work, saying he’d never forgive himself if Bobby made herself or the baby ill through working in a cold shed.
In vain did Bobby remind him of what she’d said to Tony in the pub: that the women of her family had always worked when they’d needed to. It was no use telling him that she felt well and strong, and was sure work did her good. It made no difference to remind him that their pot of savings would only last a few months with no other money coming in. Charlie was adamant she ought to be at home, taking care of herself, and Bobby wasn’tsure how much longer she could stop him taking matters into his own hands by sneaking on her to his brother.
The thing was, it wasn’t really about the money. Bobby loved her job. She lovedThe Tyke, and she adored being the deputy editress. Deciding what went in the magazine, commissioning articles, going out to interview interesting people… it was all so stimulating, so enriching. Now she’d experienced what it felt like to run a magazine, Bobby didn’t know how she could give it up – but she knew the day wasn’t far away when she would have to. And once she left work to raise a child, it was unlikely there would be any way back.
Not that Bobby regretted the choices she had made. Two years ago, when she had first come to work for Reg, she had all but sworn off love and marriage. She had known that career ambitions had to be put aside when family life beckoned – at least, for women they did – and she’d had no intention of giving up her dreams so she could bake and wash smalls for some man. Then along had come Charlie, making her love him in spite of her best efforts, and the Parry girls, who had shown her how much she wanted to be a mother.
Those feelings had only been deepened by Bobby’s experiences in this war, reminding her how fragile life could be. A successful career was cold comfort without the loving family relationships that gave life its sweetness and richness. She understood that, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t hankering for mental as well as emotional fulfilment in life.
Bobby thought of the letter she had posted to Broadcasting House four weeks ago. She had been wise not to pin her hopes on it. There had been no word of reply, not even a pre-typed rejection slip.
She still hadn’t got used to working in a new place. A couple of times she had been late for work because she had walked all the way to Moorside, then cursed her forgetfulness when she’d hadto retrace her steps back to the Parrys’ place. Bobby didn’t allow her concentration to lapse this Saturday morning, however, and arrived at work in good time. She entered the Parrys’ back garden through a gate in the wall.
The outhouse key hung on the gate, which meant the captain must not be at home. Bobby guessed he had a Saturday shift, and she knew the girls had gone out shopping with Lilian.
She knocked on the back door to ask Ida Wilcox, who cleaned for the family, if she could collect her typewriter. Captain Parry was kind enough to allow Bobby and Tony to leave their machines in the house to protect them from damp. Then she squeezed through the gap stile at the back of the garden, her Remington in her arms, and went to unlock the hut-cum-office that was now the home ofThe Tyke.
There was no sign of Tony yet, although it was now five to nine. He had rarely been late for work at Moorside, but Bobby had noted a tendency to be tardy over the past week. It was seldom more than a minute or two, but still, it was irritating.
She didn’t like to ask her brother-in-law to make the time up lest it created tension in the office, but she did wonder if this was what Jolka had been talking about – an attempt to undermine her authority. Of course, it could also be Tony’s typical desire to do only as much work as he needed to in order to collect a pay packet. Without Reg keeping an eye on them, Tony might have decided he could get away with shaving a few minutes off the working day. Bobby really hoped he was going to be on time today, otherwise it would make the fourth time this week he had been late. That would leave her with no choice but to speak to him about it.
Bobby plonked her typewriter on her desk and lit the stove. It was an icy morning, and while she tried to use fuel sparingly, she and Tony would both have fingers too numb to work if she didn’t take the chill out of the air. Then she set the kettle to boil.
She whistled while she prepared for the working day. It reminded her of basic training in the WAAF, and their Nissen hut dormitory with its temperamental stove. She hadn’t enjoyed it much at the time, when gnawing homesickness, worry that Charlie had forgotten her and a feeling of alienation had marred her days, but Bobby felt strangely nostalgic now it was behind her.
This made her think of something Andy Jessop had once said to her. Nostalgia was all well and good as long as it was in the past, but people would rarely care to relive it – that had been the gist, delivered in his thick Dales dialect. Well, he hadn’t been wrong. Bobby wouldn’t care to go back to that unhappy time, although she could look back now through rose-tinted spectacles.
She smiled sadly on remembering the homespun wisdom of her old friend. She missed their talks now Andy was gone.
Bobby sat down at her desk while the water boiled, wincing at the ache in her lower back. Next to her typewriter was last month’s issue ofThe Tyke: the Christmas number. She flicked through absently.
It included the piece she had written over a year ago, about how the pantomime they had organised had brought Silverdale’s wartime guests together. Bobby didn’t know if it was Marmaduke’s influence or her own foolish brain, but she couldn’t help feeling emotional while she read it.
How much had changed since then! She was a whole other Bobby from the naive Miss Bancroft who had played Cinderella. She even had a new name – Mrs Atherton. By the time Christmas came around once more, she would have another. To one person, at least, her name would be ‘Mam’ forever afterwards.
Quickly she tapped her fingers against her desk. It was a daft superstition, but every time Bobby found herself thinking abouther future as a mother, she instinctively reached for some wood to touch. After Lilian’s difficult labour and the loss of little Georgia, it felt like tempting fate to be too complacent.
A thought occurred to Bobby, and she pressed a hand to the bump under her loose-fitting skirt.
Oh Lord, it couldn’t be twins, could it? Dr Minchin would surely know if it was. Then again, Lilian’s doctor had had no idea she had been expecting two babies. The heartbeat of the stronger child had masked that of poor weak Georgia. And twins ran in families, didn’t they? Bobby’s sister had had twins, and so had their mother…
Two babies at once! Not that she wouldn’t be grateful for two healthy children, but however would she and Charliepayfor them? Even if her husband was lucky enough to get the bank clerk job, it was such a small salary. Charlie had no experience of banking so he’d had to apply for a junior role, with wages of less than five pounds a week. He had earned a similar amount in the RAF, but then he hadn’t had rent, food or clothing costs to consider, let alone a wife and two children to support. As a vet, he had earned more than double what he’d get as a junior clerk. They would be better off than they were on Bobby’s paltry salary, certainly, but with two babies to support, any difference would quickly be swallowed up.
And yet Bobby knew Charlie would be lucky to get it. With his damaged arm, his trembling hands and his nervous attacks, he would be lucky to get anything.
Bobby was roused from her thoughts by the arrival of Tony. She blinked back a foolish tear and glanced at her watch. This revealed that her colleague was once again late – nearly five minutes this time. He made no apology for this as he nodded good morning.
‘What’s upset you?’ he asked as he put his typewriter down, noting her full eyes.
‘Oh, nothing. Being daft, that’s all.’
‘Told you, didn’t I?’ he said with a grin. ‘Too emotional for the workplace, women. Don’t matter how well you do the job if you’re weeping all over the stock.’
Since this comment seemed intended as a joke, Bobby ignored it. Still, it irked her. Tony sat at his desk and immediately lit a cigarette.
‘How can you afford to smoke like that?’ she demanded irritably. ‘Charlie’s had to cut back to five a day now. You puff on the things like you’re bloody Diamond Jim Brady, Tony. It must play hell with your asthma.’
Tony exhaled a leisurely stream of smoke. ‘Language, love. There’s ladies present.’
